


Acid and honey

by irisdouglasiana



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, I am so sorry, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana
Summary: The Cardinal makes it halfway back to his quarters before he pauses. He knows it is a foolish idea to return to see the Queen Mother after he has just left her: Marie de’ Medici is a cunning and experienced opponent, and no more likely to reveal her true intentions now as she was a few minutes ago.He knows this. He turns around anyway.
Relationships: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu/Maria de' Medici Reine de France
Kudos: 7





	Acid and honey

The Cardinal makes it halfway back to his quarters before he pauses. He knows it is a foolish idea to return to see the Queen Mother after he has just left her: Marie de’ Medici is a cunning and experienced opponent, and no more likely to reveal her true intentions now as she was a few minutes ago. He knows the better course of action is to let his spies and Treville’s Musketeers do their work to uncover whatever conspiracy she has concocted; he knows he has plenty of other matters that require his attention, and the hour is late.

He knows all this. He turns around anyway.

Before he can change his mind, his feet carry him briskly to her rooms, heels clicking on the floor. The guards melt away without so much as a whisper when he knocks on her door and announces himself.

“Come in,” he hears her say from behind the door.

He finds Marie de’ Medici seated on the bed. Her guard dog watches him warily from the corner, his hand not quite on the hilt of his sword, but close. “Back so soon, Cardinal?” she asks. Her tone is like acid and honey mixed together.

“Yes.” On his walk to her chambers he had constructed some sort of pretext for returning, some other issue he ought to raise, but all of a sudden he cannot remember what it was. So he stands in the doorway and watches her instead.

She stares at him for a long moment. Her eyes are hard as flint. Then she glances at her companion. “Leave us.”

“But Your Majesty—” he sputters.

“Go on, Vincent,” she tells him with a dismissive flick of her hand. “I will send for you after I am finished with our dear Cardinal.” Her man looks once more at him and then at her before picking up his hat and stalking out, muttering something under his breath.

“Your lover?” he asks with raised eyebrows after the door is shut. “He seems quite jealous.”

The Medici woman shrugs. “Does he? I don’t particularly care.”

“That may be unwise.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m touched by your concern, but don’t trouble yourself with the thought. What have you come to tell me? Shall we be friends and allies?”

He inclines his head just far enough so that he can still hold her gaze, though he says nothing. Her eyes glitter. “It’s not like you to be so indecisive. Perhaps I have not been sufficiently persuasive,” she muses. She stands up and takes one step closer and then another, shrinking the gap between them to almost nothing. Her perfume is heavy with spice and horribly distracting. “Or perhaps there is something else you desire?”

He feels his skin heating up and the sweat trickling down his back, and when she smiles, it is as though she has sucked all the air from the room. He has always had a gift for talking himself out of any situation; for once, his mind is blank and he cannot think of what to say. He knows it is not too late for him to leave—she could hardly stop him—but his feet are frozen in place.

“On your knees, Armand,” she says with a devilish grin, and when he sinks down to the floor without hesitation, she laughs. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to say that.” She runs her fingers through his hair and he shudders under her touch.

“Your Majesty—”

“Did I tell you to speak?” She suddenly tugs hard on a tuft of his hair and he tries not to wince. “I know all about the mistresses you keep: pretty little things that you use until you tire of them. No doubt you like telling them what to do. Spies with wide eyes and curled hair, bruising their knees for you, the most powerful man in France.”

“The king is the most powerful man in France,” he says through gritted teeth. He is almost painfully hard now, but he holds his hands stiffly at his side.

“My son the king is an innocent and is easily led, as you know perfectly well,” she answers, still keeping her grip on the back of his head. She lets out a mocking sigh. “You and Treville will tear my poor Louis apart like the wolves you are.”

He smiles. “And you, as his lady mother, are only concerned for his welfare!”

“Such a cynic.”

“I think of myself as a realist.” He stifles a moan when she draws her nails across his cheek. It will leave a mark later. Somehow he doesn’t care.

“Realists can be useful to keep around.” She sounds terribly amused, and at last, he dares raise his head to look at her. In the light, her eyes are nearly black, and her face is aglow with pleasure. She believes she is winning this game—and perhaps she is right. He wants to know what would make her lose control; he wants to devour her. “I think you should show me, Armand, how useful you can be.”

She doesn’t need to ask him again: as soon as the words have left her mouth, he’s already pushing her skirts up above her knees and dragging her stockings down to her ankles. She lets out a small gasp when he slides one finger in her and then another. He grips his other hand around her thigh and feels her shake as he strokes her, her head thrown back, eyes closed. When she comes for the first time, she grabs at the top of his head and nearly yanks out a clump of hair. A jolt of pain rushes through him like a lightning bolt.

“Again,” she orders once she is able to speak, and eagerly he obeys, this time with his mouth. She moans something that sounds like his name as he tastes her. Now that the initial rush has faded, he decides to go slower; working her until she is almost to the edge before suddenly backing off. She opens her eyes and glares at him.

“You are no gentleman,” she scolds, which is surely true.

“And you, Madame, are no lady.”

“Stop talking,” she commands, but with almost a note of affection in her voice. She gently guides his head back so he can continue. No more teasing; he brings her to a second climax swiftly now, knees quaking, her entire body shivering with delight.

“That’s enough,” she says abruptly, and when he lingers for a moment longer, she shoves his head away. “I said enough.”

He is so hard he could burst. He sits back reluctantly and wipes his mouth, watching as she pulls up her stockings and smooths the wrinkles from her skirt. Her face is flushed and a few strands of hair are out of place, but otherwise one would think that nothing out of the ordinary has just transpired. Either way, it is clear that she is finished with him; he’ll get nothing more from her tonight.

“Shall I send in your man?” he asks grudgingly. His knees ache as he rises to his feet.

She gives him an indifferent shrug— _do as you like_. He nearly makes it to the door before she calls him back. “One more thing, before you go.”

He turns around and sees that she has dropped to her knees, her skirts neatly arranged around her. “This isn’t over, Your Majesty,” he warns her. “You think you’ve won already.”

“Oh, haven’t I? Now, Cardinal,” she says—hands clasped, an angelic smile on her face; the perfect picture of serenity—“Pray for my soul.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know nobody asked for this, I just...really liked their chemistry, ok??


End file.
